


Contact High

by blueapplesour



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pre-Relationship, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:21:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29895555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueapplesour/pseuds/blueapplesour
Summary: "But what greets him is not an enemy mage, or conspirator constructing a flame-lobbing ballista. It is Ferdinand von Aegir, prime minister of Adrestia, sitting with his back against the stone wall of the stable, one leg kicked out in front of him and a thin rolled cigarette between his bare fingers. His amber eyes go wide and guilty as Hubert’s shadow falls over him, but he doesn’t drop what he’s holding."Hubert catches Ferdinand indulging in a surprising vice.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 13
Kudos: 62





	Contact High

Contact High

A thin line of smoke cuts through clear night air, and Hubert picks up a strange, herbal note that immediately sends a tingle of alertness through him. Scents can be weapons, or magic, and smoke outside the kitchens speaks to danger. His lips press in a thin line as a hidden blade slides into his hand, swiftly bidden. It has been on the boring side of quiet lately.

But what greets him is not an enemy mage, or conspirator constructing a flame-lobbing ballista. It is Ferdinand von Aegir, prime minister of Adrestia, sitting with his back against the stone wall of the stable, one leg kicked out in front of him and a thin rolled cigarette between his bare fingers. His amber eyes go wide and guilty as Hubert’s shadow falls over him, but he doesn’t drop what he’s holding.

“Ah, hello, Hubert. I suppose this is the time of night you are lurking about.” 

His pupils are slightly large, but perhaps it’s the low light. His voice is unslurred. Hubert crouches next to him, and takes the joint for inspection, tapping away a small shake of hot ash. Up close it is truly pungent, no wonder he’s smoking well away from the palace interior. 

“In Brigid it’s as common as an after dinner cocktail,” Ferdinand starts on the defensive, a pink flush lighting his cheeks. “I only took it in the name of diplomacy.” 

“And it’s diplomacy that has you hiding behind the stables like an academy truant, smoking it in the middle of the night.” Hubert hands it back, then settles beside him. From behind the wall comes the low shuffle of horses dreaming of whatever pastures or apples please them, above the stars are clear and brilliant, only faint wisps of clouds like Ferdinand’s smoke. “Very ignoble.”

Ferdinand’s bashful smile says he’s caught, but also that he doesn’t mind. Perhaps he doesn’t mind because it’s Hubert. It’s a vain thought, but endearing: Ferdinand welcoming Hubert into shadow for once, for this most minor of vices.

“I do have to be careful about my image.” He takes in another lungful, letting it out in the night air, then offers it to Hubert. “It is not one of your mind-altering substances. Merely relaxing. And the taste is similar to coffee. Earthy. Harsh.”

Hubert takes the rolled paper between two fingers, examining. There is no pressing business, no recent threats detected. With all the poisons he’s put in his system, it is unlikely to affect him overmuch. He brings it to his lips.

It is slightly damp from Ferdinand’s own, and it’s that thought more than the inhale that seizes his chest and has his other hand pressing hard into the ground. 

“There now, hold it in a moment and let it out smoothly.”

It burns, like swallowed Reason, like splashed acid, and it is only his self-control that stops him from sputtering. His exhale curls gray-purple and dissolves, and he passes it back gracelessly, swallowing ash-tinged saliva. Still, he doesn’t cough. It’s a point of pride not to let Ferdinand best him at any kind of poison, even one taken willingly.

Ferdinand tilts his head back as he sucks a last draught of the joint, his throat exposed and the red smolder of the paper like a little dying star. He grinds it in the dirt between them, and when he turns to Hubert, his expression is soft. Pliant. 

If Hubert kissed Ferdinand now, would he taste of smoke, or would there be lingering notes of tea? 

Hubert wishes he could blame the stray thought on his poor decision to try questionable herbs without even asking Ferdinand of their exact provenance, but while he can spin lies to anyone else at court, he must be ruthlessly honest with himself. And when Ferdinand rests his head on Hubert’s shoulder, his honesty reminds him it is only because Ferdinand is compromised, if mildly so. He should not focus overmuch on how soft the red hair is under his cheek is, as a stray end that curls like the smoke on the night air. He wraps it around his fingers, where it shines finer than any golden ring.

“So this is what we could have been doing instead of breaking for coffee and tea?” he says, and pressed as they are he can feel Ferdinand’s laugh as a delicious shiver against him. They may as well be skin to skin, as hot as he is burning. 

“I doubt that would go over well. Though I suppose if you start joining me, the habit will lose its potential as blackmail.” 

“And what would I blackmail you for?” Hubert asks, amused at the thought. “Make you do all my paperwork? Assign you the most incompetent assistants?” 

“You enjoy firing incompetent assistants, perfectionist wretch that you are,” Ferdinand turns so he is fully tucked under Hubert’s chin, his voice a murmur against the mage’s throat. “You are a master of underhanded tactics, I’m sure you could figure out a perfect way to use it against me.”

The comment is mild, but something about it is like the scent of blood to a hound. It is only paranoia that makes him think it was so laced on purpose. It is only foolish desire that makes him hope. Hubert drops his hand from where it was toying traitorously close to a caress. 

“We should be going in.” Better to leave before his tongue is loosened and he says something, or saints forbid, puts it somewhere, that he regrets. 

Ferdinand doesn’t move to stand. Instead he reaches into his waistcoat pocket and pulls out another thin, rolled cigarette, no longer than his small finger. “Must we?” 

He should say something about needing to prepare for the next afternoon’s briefing. Perhaps make up some excuse about an experiment that needs tending, dark work is never done and all that. But Ferdinand is here, and for once they are alone, and Hubert’s honesty reminds him there is indeed no pressing business at all. 

With a snap Hubert lights a flame of magic at his fingertips, and Ferdinand puts the joint between his lips, and bends to light it on the tiny blaze. His sigh is content as he passes it to Hubert, and this time the muddy flavor goes down easier. 

“Last one,” he instructs as he holds the cigarette back to Ferdinand’s mouth, wishing to everything he never believed in that he wasn’t wearing gloves, that he could feel the softness against his fingers. Ferdinand’s angle has him looking up through pale lashes, close enough to devour. 

Dangerous, dangerous stuff, he muses as Ferdinand taps a dusting of ash to the dirt. 

He reaches for another hit.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick one while I work on longer things! Find me on twitter at blueapplesour.


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